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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25859665">Strawberry Lips</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkbluebox/pseuds/darkbluebox'>darkbluebox</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>AFTG Summer Prompts [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>All For The Game - Nora Sakavic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Andrew POV, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Innuendo, Kissing, M/M, Makeouts, Oblivious Neil Josten, Slice of Life, Taunting, aftgsummer, prompt: popsicle, so much innuendo oh my god</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:02:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,527</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25859665</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkbluebox/pseuds/darkbluebox</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Andrew stares into the empty freezer. “Neil,” he says, letting just enough feeling creep into his tone for Neil to truly understand the depths of his devastation. “You forgot the ice-cream.”</p><p>Andrew and Neil make homemade popsicles. Shenanigans ensue.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>AFTG Summer Prompts [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862743</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>284</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>AFTG Summer 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Strawberry Lips</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For the #aftgsummer event<br/>Prompt: popsicle</p><p>Content warnings: physical displays of affection, food, blatant innuendo</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Andrew stares into the empty freezer. “Neil,” he says, letting just enough feeling creep into his tone for Neil to truly understand the depths of his devastation. “You forgot the ice-cream.”</p><p>“There was no ice-cream. There was no ice-anything.” Neil is kneeling on the kitchen counter, which he has decided for reasons unknown is easier than the step stool where reaching the upper shelves is concerned. The hem of his shirt rides up as he shoves Andrew’s requested junk food into one of the upper cupboards, apparently labouring under the delusion that lack of easy access will in some way act as a deterrent. “The store had a power outage last night. They don’t have any frozen food at all.”</p><p>Andrew lets the freezer door swing shut. There are few things that he allows to truly get under his skin. The idea of countless tubs of ice-cream going to waste in a supermarket dumpster doesn’t make the list, but it does come close. The weather forecast for the next few days could roughly be compared to hell on earth, and Andrew is not in the mood to tolerate a heatwave without suitable frozen goods on hand.</p><p>“I did get the last one of these, though.” Neil reaches into one of the bags and pulls out a plastic popsicle-making kit. “I don’t know what people usually put in their moulds, so I bought a few things. Could be interesting?” He slides down from the counter, landing chest-to-chest with Andrew.</p><p>“Could be,” Andrew answers non-committaly.</p><p>After some debate, they divide the moulds out between them, allowing Neil to chop and blend as much fruity yogurty shit as he wants for his own popsicles while Andrew works on how to best liquefy chocolate. He ends up with a milk-and-melted-chocolate concoction which Neil wrinkles his nose at while Andrew fills his containers. Andrew dusts icing sugar in before adding the sticks, not because he thinks it will improve the flavour, but just to see Neil’s barely restrained horror.</p><p>Andrew slouches off to the living room to clean out the mixing bowl. Neil turns up with leftover strawberries in time to wipe up the dregs Andrew’s fingers missed. Fruit is tolerable, Andrew concedes, in conjunction with chocolate, and watching Neil lick stray dribbles of chocolate mix from his fingers is an added bonus.</p><p>Despite having told Andrew that they will have to wait until tomorrow at the earliest, Neil checks on the progress of their creations in the freezer at least twice before bed like a mother hen fussing over her eggs.</p><p>The forecast was, for once, correct. The heat hits Columbia like a sledgehammer, and Andrew is eternally grateful that Neil already agreed to a week off from practice, because, air-con or not, Andrew cannot imagine exercising in this.</p><p>Luckily, they’re prepared. Neil runs the mould under the tap until two of the popsicles are loose enough to tug free, and they retreat to the couch to enjoy the fruits of their labour. Andrew’s creation tastes better than he expected, although in truth his standards have never been high as long as the sugar content was to his satisfaction.</p><p>Andrew bites through his popsicle in a matter of minutes. Neil does not go for the same strategy, choosing instead to lap at the tip absent-mindedly while he browses the Exy magazine lying open in his lap. Andrew watches a bead of condensation roll down the creamy-pink popsicle and drip, unnoticed, onto Neil’s shirt. Neil seems unconcerned by the ticking time bomb that is a popsicle in a warm room; he continues with a series of kitten-licks occasionally broken up as he runs his tongue along the length of the popsicle to catch any run-off juice before it can drip onto his magazine. It’s when Neil swirls his tongue around the end before pulling off with a faint <em>pop</em> that Andrew begins to wonder if he's being fucked with. He tilts his head to one side and upgrades his expression from blank observation to all-out glare. Neil seems genuinely surprised when he notices Andrew’s pointed gaze. “What?”</p><p>“You’re taking your time,” Andrew says levelly.</p><p>“Not my fault you finished yours in five seconds flat.”</p><p>“It’s dribbling everywhere. You’re making a mess,” Andrew says unthinkingly, then hears the innuendo and suddenly finds himself fighting the urge to put his fist through a wall. “You’re being gross.”</p><p>“I’m not gonna <em>bite</em> it,” Neil says, so petulantly that Andrew reconsiders the wall as the target of his frustrations. “Hold on, let me just-” And then, to Andrew’s disbelief, Neil tilts back his head and slides the popsicle right to the back of his throat. And Andrew <em>knows</em> the second it hits the back of Neil’s throat because Neil makes a <em>noise, </em>and Andrew <em>knows </em>that noise, and if he has to hear it again under these circumstances, he will commit murder.</p><p>Andrew hooks a finger around Neil’s wrist and pulls until the popsicle slides out from Neil’s lips. Neil looks at Andrew, betrayed, his lips painted strawberry-pink. “What?!”</p><p>“You <em>have </em>to be kidding me.”</p><p>“No?”</p><p>“Do you have any idea,” Andrew growls, and then stops, because it’s Neil. <em>Of course </em>he doesn’t. “Allow me to explain.” He places his hand over Neil’s so that they’re both holding the popsicle stick between them and makes pointed eye-contact as he licks a long, wet stripe along the length of the popsicle.</p><p>Neil’s eyebrows shoot upwards. “Um.”</p><p>Andrew repeats the motion, enjoying the twitch of Neil’s fingers under his. He draws back to lick his lips. “What did you put in these?”</p><p>“Strawberries, raspberries, cream, yogurt…” Neil trails off. “Tequila.”</p><p>It’s Andrew’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “You held out on me.”</p><p>“I wanted to test the recipe out first.” Neil’s eyes haven’t left Andrew’s lips for some time. “Thoughts?”</p><p>Andrew hums thoughtfully. Neil’s eyes widen as he leans forward and sucks the popsicle down. He lets his eyes flutter closed as he rolls the popsicle around his mouth. He slides back up, but just as he has Neil convinced that he’s going to relinquish the popsicle he bobs down again, allowing a quiet hum of contentment to slip from his chest as he does so. He’s even sloppier than Neil was, and a few drops of creamy liquid escape over the cusp of the popsicle and dribble across their fingers. Andrew makes another noise, and is rewarded with a quiet, “<em>fuck, Andrew,</em>” for his efforts.</p><p>“Yeah,” Andrew says after pulling off with a <em>pop</em>. “I’d say it’s pretty good.”</p><p>Neil answers with a noise that is a few octaves higher than his usual tone. He all but throws the Exy magazine to the floor to make way for Andrew climbing into his lap, struggling to balance the rapidly melting popsicle with Andrew’s sudden weight. Andrew doesn’t waste time worrying about what Neil is going to do with it, not when his face is right <em>there</em>, cheeks flushed and lips still stained from the fruit, and when he seizes Neil’s face in his hands and kisses him, he can taste it on Neil’s lips and in his mouth and on his tongue and it is <em>perfect</em>. Neil kisses back like he’s getting drunk on Andrew’s mouth, and maybe he is.</p><p>Like fighting gravity, Andrew pulls himself back long enough to say, “You can touch me.”</p><p>Neil waggles his free hand in Andrew’s eyeline, which shines with trails of melted popsicle juice. “Too sticky.”</p><p>Andrew rolls his eyes, takes hold of Neil’s hand, and sucks two fingers into his mouth. Flavour bursts across Andrew’s tongue as he swirls it around the digits, tracking down every drop of juice. Neil swears, a colourful string of expletives that send heat shooting through Andrew’s gut. Andrew chases the fruit down towards Neil’s knuckles, by which time Neil has dropped the cursing in favour of watching, lips parted, as Andrew licks across his skin.</p><p> “That… that didn’t help,” Neil says as he stares at his spit-slick fingers.</p><p>“Unfortunate,” Andrew replies, before losing himself again in the taste of Neil’s mouth. One of Neil’s hands fists in Andrew’s shirt while his arm hooks around Andrew’s neck like it’s his lifeline. Andrew only spots the problem with this when something cold touches his leg.</p><p>“Neil,” Andrew growls into Neil’s mouth. “What did you do with the popsicle?”</p><p>“Oh,” Neil says, looking in surprise at his empty hands. “I think I…dropped it?” They both look down at the same time to see the pink puddle dribbling across the cushions. “…oops?”</p><p>Andrew hisses in irritation, nudging Neil sideways to remove them from the path of the meltwater. He slides a hand into Neil’s hair and tugs until his lips are at Neil’s ear. “You are going to clean this up,” Andrew says lowly, “And when – <em>only </em>when – this mess is gone, you will find me upstairs.”</p><p>Andrew climbs out of Neil’s lap without waiting for a response. It takes Neil a moment to collect himself enough for one, but he manages in time to catch Andrew in the doorway. “Andrew?”</p><p>Andrew turns back, eyebrow quirking.</p><p>Neil smirks. “So, you like my popsicle?”</p><p>Andrew leaves without replying.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*sweats*<br/>I blame the prompt list for corrupting me tbh</p><p>Come join the party <a href="https://darkblueboxs.tumblr.com">on tumblr</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/darkblueboxs">and twitter.</a> I've two more things planned for aftg summer so stay tuned!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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